


Rehabilitation

by GiftsofGab



Series: Another Way [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Brief talk of suicide, Censored cursing, Drama, F/M, Gen, Love Triangle, Rehabilitation, Synth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-04 00:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12157884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiftsofGab/pseuds/GiftsofGab
Summary: Danse seeks Railroad rehabilitation at the request of Nora. While the former Paladin accepts his lot, the process is more taxing than the sole survivor could have imagined.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Now complete! Thank you for your time reading and for comments! :)

“Thank you… again, Danse. This means a lot to me.” Nora kept her eyes on the wall just in front of her as she spoke, not wanting the former Paladin to see her shame. This would be difficult for both of them, but she swallowed her pride for his safety’s sake, and urged him to do the same.

“I don’t like it,” Danse admitted, eyes also forward. “But if I ever want an opportunity to help the Commonwealth as a free man- as a free… Freely,” he decided on, finally, “then this is my only chance.” He adjusted the zipper on his brown leather jacket and cracked his neck.

Nora reached for the metal plate on the wall and spun it to spell out ‘RAILROAD.’ After a moment, the wall before them opened and revealed only darkness. She looked up to her much-taller companion with worried brows. He gave her the slightest of smiles, if only to reassure her he would have her back despite what lie inside. She moved in and he followed cautiously.

Bright lights filled the chamber, their switches echoing in the brick room. Three figures stood on a raised platform across from Nora and Danse. On the left was a woman with white hair and a beautiful face. Her angry eyes pierced into Danse, but he refused to meet them. A minigun rested on her hip. On the right stood a nervous-looking man in a patched blue coat. He held a pistol with both hands. In the center was another woman, with short red hair and no gun. Her stance commanded attention.

As she spoke, she over-emphasized each phrase with severity. “What. The f*ck. Do you want?”

Nora had to take a moment to breathe and consider her words carefully. “We’re-”

“We know exactly who you are. Give me a reason not to have you shot in the next 5 seconds.”

Nora’s eyes flitted across the room in panic. “I- we- we’re looking for the Railroad for rehabilitation.”

“For whom?”

“For me.” Danse’s deep voice was powerful as ever, but a glint of embarrassment could be found in it. “I’m a synth.”

“Bullsh*t,” barked the minigun wielder.

The woman in the center waved a cool hand to calm her associate. “You’re with the Brotherhood,” she said to the companions.

“We were,” Nora said. “Then we found out…” She looked and motioned to Danse. “Things are difficult now.”

“I see.” The woman considered this for a long moment, her arms crossed and a hand on her chin. Nora knew what she must be thinking. She knew what sort of opportunity this presented for the Railroad. Two persons with extensive knowledge of the Brotherhood and the Prydwen stood asking for help. Nora might be malleable, having come to learn the truth about synths and their human condition and capacity. Danse, on the other hand, regarded the Brotherhood highly and still sought to do right by them, if by any means than taking his own life, which Nora’s constant, exhausting vigilance prevented.

The woman opened her mouth to speak until a figure caught her eye. A man approached her from behind, wearing tight jeans, a white tee-shirt, and dark-framed sunglasses. His pompadour reflected his lively personality. “Hey, Dez, sorry I’m late to the party. The store was out of guac so I just brought salsa.” The woman rolled her eyes in impatience. “You seem to be doing fine without me though,” he continued to her chagrin. “Looks like they didn’t even bring guns.”

“You know how dangerous these individuals are, Deacon, especially to us. Try to stay focused here. They say this one’s a synth.” She pointed at Danse. She could have belayed the pronoun and mentioned Danse by name, however, as everyone present knew who he was, and Nora for that matter.

“Well,” the one called Deacon began, “they ain’t wrong.”

“Really?” Dez asked. Nora thought the question was spoken a bit casually, as if Dez wouldn’t care what answer Deacon gave her.

“Saw the whole thing myself. Elder Maxson kicked their a**es right out. Didn’t shoot them though, so that was thoughtful.”

“You saw the whole thing?” Nora questioned.

“You should have seen him,” the woman with the minigun chuckled. “Ghillie suit and green paint all over his face. Saw him get ready before heading to Listening Post Bravo.”

“Surprised I got all the makeup off.” He met her smile before it faded back to a frown, but his remained.

“How could you possibly have known we’d be there?” Nora asked.

“How did Maxson know?” he riposted.

Of that, she was unsure. Deacon had somehow managed to figure out the rendezvous point, possibly from shadowing Danse’s group and overhearing them discuss it. That would mean he had been watching them since before the Prydwen had even arrived. Surely, Nora considered, if the Railroad found out their natural enemy had come to town, they would have someone monitoring their activity closely. She decided this must be what happened, but she hardly cared. He was only verifying the facts they needed to get aid from the Railroad, and she appreciated it.

Danse had worked out this same thought. Imagining someone listening on the other side of doors or watching through a sniper scope made him furious, but his cool demeanor prevented his face from showing it any more than it usually did. Disappointment, too, in himself and his team, writhed inside him, for not having noticed someone tailing them.

“Can you help us or not?” Danse’s deep voice bounced against the stone walls of the catacombs.

“Why should we?” Dez asked.

“If I’m ever spotted by a member of the Brotherhood, I will be shot on sight. My only sanctuary is the listening post- and this godforsaken tomb.”

“And,” Nora said timidly, desperate for anything that may gain the Railroad’s help, “we have a common enemy. The Institute has something I want.”

“You were one of our enemies not a day ago,” Dez replied.

“C’mon, Dez, they’re a great shot. We could use some more firepower on our side.”

“I’m not even asking you to help me take down the Institute,” Nora said. “You help Danse, and I’m yours. But as for him, after he’s back on his feet, he walks- with no one following him.” She glared at Deacon who put his hands up in a fake surrender.

Dez looked from Nora to Danse to Deacon, the latter of whom met her with a cheesy grin. She sighed and said, “Welcome to the Railroad HQ.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dez (which Nora had quickly learned was short for Desdemona based on the other agents addressing her in full) showed the former Brotherhood members around their new home. The pair was less than impressed, but the fortitude of the stone tunnel system was better than most of the crumbling shelters in the Commonwealth. They met with Tinker Tom, eccentric and worrisome, but nice enough. They came to know the two gun-wielding agents from the platform as Glory and Drummer Boy. A Doctor Carrington was also present, as was an Assaultron called P.A.M. and a handful of other agents doing various jobs around the headquarters. It was quite a spectacle, but the two were exhausted from their trek to safety, having to be wary of the Brotherhood now, on top of everything else that wanted them dead.

When they had gotten settled and each claimed a mattress in a back tunnel, Danse and Nora were led to a side room with a desk and terminal. Deacon set up chairs behind the desk where the newcomers sat. He interrupted Bobby Darin by clicking off a nearby radio mid-song, then took a seat at the computer with a heavy sigh.

“Alright,” he began, opening a program. “We have a pretty standard checklist for synths we help out. I’m just gonna go down the list. No need to make any decisions today.” He read the list from the screen. “First, you’ll need a new name. That one’s pretty obvious and unavoidable.”

Danse’s thick brows raised. He wasn’t too surprised by the suggestion, but was unsure how to approach it. Nora nodded in understanding to Deacon who offered, “You’ll have time to think about it, or we can give you one. Next: you’ll need a new face.”

“Is that easy?” Nora asked. “How good are these butcher shops that claim plastic surgery as their profession?”

“It’s not so bad,” Deacon beamed. “I turned out okay after my rehabilitation.” He turned his head a few different ways as if to model the work.

“Y-you’re-?”

“That’s right,” he said, then quickly moved on. “The third thing is strongly advised, but it’s ultimately up to you. I want you to think about it. Just like your name, you can let me know later.”

“What is it?” Danse replied.

“We suggest you leave the Commonwealth.” Nora cringed. Danse only nodded and made soft fists atop his knees.

“With the presence of the Institute, it’s not easy for synths here. There are many options, but Capital Wasteland is easiest. We can discuss locations in time.”

Nora turned to her companion and looked at him desperately, but he never turned to her, either out of his usual obliviousness or determination not to show her that he reciprocated the sadness she exuded. Nora was truly clueless as to his feelings about her. The most she had received from him was appreciation for having saved his life, and even then, it was paired with a desire to end it himself.

“As for the fourth,” Deacon continued, watching Nora to make sure he was being heard over her obviously booming thoughts, “it’s completely up to you, of course. Your situation can’t be easy. It could help you if we did a memory wipe.”

“What??” Nora broke.

“As far as we understand it, your personality would technically remain in tact. To be frank, we’re all driven by a collection of cells that determine how we react to experiences. Your hormones drive you and shape your personality. We won’t touch anything but your memories, so your personality could remain, just without the memories that influenced it. It would depend on the new ones you receive and would be molded by those experiences, not the ones your human counterpart grew up with.”

“If he gets a new set of memories, he could turn out to be influenced into someone else entirely. Even with the same chemical makeup telling him how to react, the same person growing up as a farmer, a doctor, a soldier... They could end up totally different because of the memories.”

“Right,” the Railroad agent confirmed. “Or, we could wipe your memories entirely. We empty you out, except for basic things like motor skills and linguistic knowledge, and explain everything from there. ‘You’re a synth, don’t even worry about what happened in the past, you need to be careful out there, here’s a one-way ticket to Capital Wasteland, go make your own memories.’”

Danse’s mind raced at the possibilities. There were so many unknowns for the fourth item on the checklist. He kept his thoughts to himself for now. They were so clouded anyway. It had only been a few days since Maxson had ordered his death, and Danse’s heart still ached over the look in the Elder’s eyes. Such betrayal Danse had never known, and would never forget… unless he took Deacon up on the offer to do so.

Deacon stood slowly, trying not to interrupt Danse’s thoughts. “Think things over. There’s time.” Before leaving the room, he clicked back on the radio to mask the ensuing conversation from the ears of the other agents. He was a sneak and an eavesdropper, but whatever emotionally-charged conversation was about to take place was of no value to the Railroad. As he crossed the threshold back into the main room, Deacon took a lingering look at Nora. She was genuinely in despair for her friend. He hadn’t seen emotion so bottled since his look in the mirror to shave that morning. He left the companions to their discussion.


	3. Chapter 3

Nora moved cautiously towards a side room of the headquarters. Beyond the entryway was a symbol she recognized to signal danger thanks to the chalkboard on the wall just beyond it- or did it mean an agent was nearby? Nora had turned her head to look at it from multiple angles. She settled on “danger” once she realized the room was a shooting range. She glanced around the main room to see only sleeping agents. The radios had been switched off, save for one near Tinker Tom who insisted the classical radio increased his IQ as he slept. Luckily for Nora, this masked her footsteps a bit as she crept into the range.

“Deacon?” she whispered in the glow of a red light bulb. She saw the silhouette of an arm wave in the darkness. She moved towards it.

“Hey, Nora,” Deacon said in a hushed tone. He sat leaning on a wall, the butt of a cigarette illuminated in his hand. Its light reflected off the dark lenses he wore even then. He motioned for her to sit beside him. As she neared, he swept away debris from dislodged bricks and made a flat space for her to rest.

Nora complied. She sat with her knees together and back against the cold stones. Her blue vault suit had seen better days, but the darkness hid its holes and stains, making it fair enough to wear as night clothes. It hugged her body as she hugged her knees. “Wanderer,” she said.

“Hm?”

“Dez wanted me to pick a code-name. She had said you all know me and Danse by our work with the Brotherhood, but a code-name would prevent them from learning of my involvement with the Railroad.”

“Nice to know you then, Wanderer.” He moved his cigarette to his left hand so he could extend his right over his body to her. She took it and gave it a firm shake. He noted her soft hands despite having seen her fire a gun a few times while he followed the pair. He considered the reason she seemed so close with Danse was due to a companionship built out of necessity for someone with gun knowledge- someone who did most of the shooting. Maybe, Deacon thought, she was a sneak like him, letting Danse handle the battle as she specialized in espionage. An intrusive thought about her trespassed in his mind- a thought which he almost reached out to swat away.

“And Danse?” he asked, trying to place his thoughts back on track.

“I think he settled on Michael. Michael Parker.”

“I like it.” He took a drag.

“Your note asked me to meet you here?”

“Just wanted to check in. This is a taxing process, synth rehabilitation.”

“I’m okay,” she lied through her teeth.

Deacon rolled his head against the wall and looked at her with a smug grin. “Don’t make me ask again.”

Nora let a small burst of air leave her nose in a light chuckle before she turned solemn. “You heard what Maxson asked me to do. Even then, Danse was willing,” she shook her head to correct the words. “ _Michael_ was willing to give himself over to the Brotherhood.”

“He’s dedicated, I’ll give him that.” He and Nora both knew that was a grand understatement. “But not you, huh?” Deacon flicked some ash from the cigarette before taking another puff.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Not me. The Institute…”

“Has something you want,” he recalled from their first meeting two days prior.

“I told Danse and Maxson from the start- I was after the Institute. I needed a means to get inside. Once I did and told them what I wanted wasn’t there, I think Maxson knew my loyalty was faulty.”

“I’m sorry, can you shut the f*ck up a second?” He dropped the cigarette in the dust. She looked shocked at the comment. “Sorry,” he said, shifting to sit atop one leg and turn towards her. “Nora- Wanderer- that’s incredible!” He tried to remain hushed despite his exhilaration. He put out his hands, almost hoping hers would meet them to steady him.

“For all the following you’ve done, you didn’t know?”

“Sh*t, no, I didn’t know. It’s so hard to get anywhere near the airport. Scouts everywhere- you know that. There’s a farm across from it that I sometime- no, okay, focus,” he told himself. “I knew you were trying to get there, but how did you end up managing?”

“Long story short, I met someone with inside knowledge and he helped me build a machine. We built walls first, to hide it from any prying eyes.” She made an accusing face which he mostly ignored due to his elation at the information. “What we built was a teleporter. That’s how they get in and out. No doors, no secret passageways. Coursers use a molecular relay system to teleport to and from the Institute.”

“Wh-what was it like? The people, the air, the labs? How the f*ck did you get out of there alive?”

Nora smiled at Deacon’s excitement. She opened her mouth, about to weave her story, having nowhere better to be, but the smile faded and she looked away from him. After a moment, she said, “After Michael. I’ll tell you everything.”

Deacon frowned then shifted off his leg and back onto the dusty floor. “Fair enough,” he said. “But I remember you telling Dez that the Institute was your enemy too. Whatever your reason for hating them-”

“It’s not synths,” she interrupted. “I know the Brotherhood hates you, but I don’t.” Deacon relished in his lie. He had sold that one smoothly. “Like I said, I joined them to find something.”

“Did you think they took something?” he asked.

“I guess they did. But they don’t have it anymore.” She told lies of her own, in a way. It was more like she was bending the truth, but she felt no obligation to talk about Shaun with the Railroad. She had told the Brotherhood of Steel about her boy, and they thrived off the motherly rage that flared within her. When she finally found her son, she considered giving the Institute a chance for the sake of their relationship, but something was wrong. He was so cold. Few conversations were geared towards reestablishing a bond between them. Almost all he did was ask things of her, even after playing games with her journey to find him. She was just another science experiment, just a tool.

Having spent a few days in the Institute, trying to test the waters with her son and gage his potential to love her, she was emotionally drained. She could not tell the synths from the scientists when she went to converse with them. As far as she could see, they were people. She even saw the lab in which they were created. Human flesh as real as hers lined equally human bones and nerves. As Deacon described it, she came to understand that the cells that create a personality were present. Even the memories were real to someone at some point, and the cells that made up the synths would decide how they grew emotionally and psychologically, much like humans.

“We’ll help Michael,” Deacon said, standing, recognizing that the conversation could go no further before Danse had progress. He extended a hand to her. She took it and was helped to her feet. Their hands lingered a half second longer than either had intended before they pulled away. The red light’s glow lined their faces. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk about surgery tomorrow.” He motioned towards the low-lit main room, through which she’d cross to return to the hallway lined with mattresses.

“Goodnight, Deacon. Thanks for listening.” She maneuvered her way over the fallen bricks and into the main room.

“Night, Nora.”


	4. Chapter 4

“What decisions have you made, Michael?” Deacon sat in a folding chair in the main room, legs crossed so one ankle rested on his opposite knee. He held a small glass of a light brown drink and swirled it before taking a sip.

Danse was across from him, sitting at attention, ever the proper soldier. Nora was away with Glory making a run to pick up information left by agents of another Railroad safehouse. Deacon hoped Glory’s guns-blazing approach to her work wouldn’t put their newest agent in harm’s way. Danse rolled his broad shoulders. “I’ve been discussing things with Agent Wanderer.”

“It’s up to you in the end,” Deacon clarified.

“I understand. She seems to be smart about these sorts of things and I just needed a second opinion. She’s full of those.”

Deacon looked up at Danse in surprise. So the soldier was capable of humor, despite the straight face he wore even when making a joke.

“I think it’s best I receive the plastic surgery. I still have goals to aid the Wastelands as best I can, and I want to be able to move freely without worry of the Brotherhood recognizing me.”

“You’ve decided to keep your memories then? If you got new ones, you may have a different agenda.”

“That, I haven’t decided on just yet. Whatever my decision, it will either displease the Railroad for my remaining sentiments towards the Brotherhood, or upset Wanderer for opting to forget our experiences.”

Deacon’s surprise only increased. The agent hadn’t thought Danse considered Nora’s feelings in all this- only her opinion as a fellow soldier. Did he care about her beyond their relationship as recruits? Deacon remained wary, however, at the admission of Danse’s potential loyalty to the Brotherhood of Steel. If he received a new face, there was little stopping him from signing up again under an alias and working his way back up the ranks.

“I know what you must be thinking, and I’m willing to admit I considered it highly.”

“So there’s activity in that big head of yours after all,” Deacon smiled.

Danse ignored the comment. He was used to the insults since his teenage years- or whoever's teen years they were. Being a soldier came with stigmas of heartlessness, blind faith in a cause, and lack of free thought. While Danse understood how people might believe those things about him, he knew they were untrue in his case. Every day, he felt deeply, but stifled it with a glower for the security of those around him.

“Even if I wanted to rejoin the Brotherhood, you will have seen my new face. I expect the Railroad would expose me, despite my good intentions for the Commonwealth.”

Deacon held back a scoff. The two factions had common goals, it’s true, but the Brotherhood’s came at the cost of eliminating all synths- free-thinking humans that only happened to be manufactured in a lab. He thought Danse foolish for aiding a cause that would have him put down like a dog, but Danse knew the power of technology put to proper use. The Railroad had guns that shot scrap metal and two working terminals. The Prydwen hosted an extensive collection of weapons, armor, advancements in medicine, technologies, and manpower- not to mention the giant robot Nora had just helped them complete. In his mind, it was obvious who would be the one to take down the Institute, and the Railroad was imprudent for trying to stand in the Brotherhood’s way.

The Railroad agent lacked the mental strength to make his arguments today, and Danse had no interest in trying to convert Deacon with a speech on his ideals.

“I don’t know where I want to go, but I want to remain who I am and I’m ready for the surgery whenever it’s available.”

Deacon placed his now-empty glass on a rusty metal desk beside him. “We can get it started this week. It will take months to heal, but our guy does great work.”

“What was it like,” Danse asked, “when you found out?”

Deacon felt a twinge of guilt for pretending to have gone through what Danse was dealing with right now.

“We’re incredible, Michael. All the perks of being human while also being ageless. What about that wouldn’t be appealing?”

“The part where I’m an abomination to nature.”

“Excuse you,” Deacon said, feigning hurt and continuing the lie. “I know it hurts, knowing your memories aren’t your own. Try not to think about it too much. There’s always the memory wipe. It could make things easier.” Deacon sought to push the memory change for the sake of making one less enemy for the synths. While staring down Danse behind his shades, a leather bag fell heavily on the desk beside him.

“She’s back,” Danse said with a bounce of his brows as he finally picked up a glass of bourbon Deacon had poured for him upon sitting down.  
Deacon cursed as he watched Nora storm across the safehouse into the back tunnel. She had heard his suggestion to Danse. “We’ll head out for the surgery tomorrow, Michael.” He patted the synth on the shoulder and left him to finish his drink. Glory strolled into the room more casually than her new partner had and took up conversation with Danse.

Adjusting his belt, Deacon stepped into the tunnel. Nora sat on a ratty brown mattress, one she had claimed chiefly to let Danse have the nicer of the available two. Her head was turned down the tunnel towards a metal door, a fist under her chin and a scowl on her face. Deacon knocked on the bricks, causing his knuckles to make more of a knock than the wall.

“F*ck off,” she said.

“Hey, c’mon, I’m trying to help him out here.” Deacon stepped closer, but kept a safe distance.

“I know exactly what you’re trying to do. You told him it’s his decision, so stop pushing him to make the one that best suits the Railroad!” She turned to him and glared. He cursed in his mind and told himself he’d have to patch this quickly.

“I’m sorry, Wanderer.”

She sighed. “If you want me aboard, you have to help him, not do everything for him. You know what it’s like in his shoes. Give him time.” There was no way he could ever let up the lie now- not without serious repercussions. It wasn’t funny anymore.

Nora turned her head away. He caught her eyes closing and her cheeks immediately go bright red. “Oh,” he said softly when he realized she was not okay. Her shoulders gave a sharp heave despite her attempts to hold them steady. “Shh,” he whispered, looking around for some nonexistent helper. He knelt beside her when he realized he was the only one who could do this. “Shh sh sh.” He cautiously put a hand on her shoulder as it heaved again, accompanied by a quick gasp for air. Tears ran down the hand covering her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” he said, placing both hands on her arms and rubbing them up and down. He gave them a reassuring squeeze. He hadn’t been here for so long, but it came back naturally. “This must be really difficult.”

“I hate this place,” she moaned. “Nothing’s the same.” He had learned from months of trailing her that she was Old World. Something about a baby was said to detective Nick Valentine as they traveled, but most of their conversations took place behind the closed door of his agency. After Nora had taken up with the Brotherhood, Deacon watched as her friendship with Nick, a Gen 2 synth, had fallen apart and her case was never discussed with him again. He couldn’t imagine what the Institute was doing with a baby, but when she had told him that they no longer had what she sought, Deacon didn’t let his thoughts linger on what may have happened to the child at their hands.

“And the closest thing to a family I had wants me dead.” She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.

“You’ll have the Railroad now,” he assured her. “We’re one big dysfunctional family- with guns. We’ve got your back, Wanderer.” He took a dishrag from his back pocket and offered it.

She took it and used it. She tried to awkwardly chuckle the tears away. She put her dry hand over his on her arm but didn’t look up at him. “Thanks.”

“You’ve always got my ear to bend,” he said quietly. He almost moved to brush a strand of wet hair from her cheek, but stopped himself. She finally met his lenses, closer than she had realized. Her eyes flitted across his calm face.

The heavy door at the entrance of the headquarters slammed open. “Brotherhood!!” screamed Drummer Boy.


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t know how, but scouts found us and they’re coming right f*cking now!” Drummer tried to catch his breath while leaning on the round, stone table at the center of the main room.

Glory and Danse jumped to their feet. Desdemona rushed from Tinker Tom’s corner and started clapping her hands together. “Glory, Deacon, and Drummer, I want you with me! Carrington, you and Tom lead the rest of the agents through the back entrance!”

Deacon pulled Nora onto her feet and cursed about ten times in a few seconds as he dashed to his mattress in the main room. He took a laser pistol from under his straw pillow and checked its fusion cell count. Nora scrambled for the rifle she had stored on a shelf in the hallway, then ran out into the main room.

“What about me and Danse?” She belayed his new name in her distress.

“Will you fight?” Dez demanded as agents rushed past her and out the back tunnel.

“I will,” Nora confirmed. “But-” She didn’t have to finish. Dez and Deacon both knew Danse was not reliable in this situation.

“Michael, follow Carrington,” Deacon said for Desdemona, who didn’t seem to mind as she readied her own weapon.

“No,” said Nora in a panic. The Railroad agents looked to her in question. She ran to Danse’s side. “Come with me? You don’t have to fight, but maybe they’ll see reason.”

“Everyone in the Brotherhood reflects Elder Maxson’s ideals. I will go with you, not to raise a hand against my brothers or sisters, and not to convince them of anything, but to protect you, if that’s what you want. I am only here today because of you, and my life is yours to use.”

Nora wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. She wanted him out of harm’s way, but he wished the same for her. They would have to face the Brotherhood together, by whatever means.

The tunnels were dead quiet. Desdemona had told Glory to tread lightly through the crypts so they might have the element of surprise. Glory called her associates cowards for letting Deacon take the lead through stealth. He and Nora crept along the passageways to the stairs leading into the church. Danse waited on the steps, hugging the wall with one arm behind him and holding his weapon in the other.

Deacon quietly snuck into the church, peering around and waving for Nora to follow after he knew the coast was clear. He managed to climb up a collapsed balcony and pulled her up after him. In their movement, a burnt Bible fell from its place on a pew and Nora jumped, grabbing Deacon’s arm. “Easy,” he said. She apologized and released him. He didn’t mind at all.

They moved to the front of the church where a large window gave them a view over the courtyard outside. To their horror, three Knights and a Paladin stood in power armor, along with several obscured Knights in combat armor, and “Scribe Haylen!” Nora said in relieved surprise.

She clamored away from the window and back down the balcony. Deacon quickly followed, trying to offer her help down the balcony, but Nora managed alone and skidded into the stairwell. She ran into Danse, who caught her up in his large arms to prevent her from tripping. “Haylen is here!”

“Scribe Haylen?”

As Deacon approached the landing, a creak above them resounded throughout the near-silent building. Nora tightened her grip around Danse’s arms. Deacon leered at the ceiling and readied his gun. They stood perfectly still, breathing, waiting.

Two sets of footsteps started towards the stairs. Nora’s eyes were panicked. Danse pulled her tight against himself with his left arm and readied his laser pistol at the stairwell.

Tiny feet appeared at the top of the stairs. A slim figure froze as her eyes adjusted and she saw the two men pointing guns at her. She had a gun of her own, propped against her shoulder in anticipation of someone having been there around the corner. She had hoped she wouldn’t be the one to find the Railroad. The first person to find the enemy was always the recipient of the first shot that gave away their position. But after a long silence, she whispered, “Nora? Danse?” The latter had been nearly unrecognizable without the orange uniform and hood he frequently wore, nevermind the power armor he had left behind at the listening post.

Nora’s eyes pleaded with every ounce of desperation she could muster. Danse loosened his grip to let her step away and clasp her hands in a begging gesture. “Haylen,” she mouthed. “Please.”

“You’re alive,” she said at Danse, tears beginning to well. She lowered her gun. “Thank you,” she mouthed to Nora, for having crossed Maxson after all. She had been unsure, but imagined the Paladin and Knight had managed to kill each other. The relief that flooded her was immense.

Deacon’s gun remained tight in his hands, his finger on its trigger. Haylen looked to him before her head shot towards a sound at the stairwell entrance. Footsteps scuffed along, heavier than hers. “Knight Rhys,” she said. “Just a dead end here.” Rhys ignored her words and approached to see for himself.

He stopped dead, his eyes more serious than they usually were. His lips parted to bare his teeth. The sight of Danse brought a crashing wave of disgust over him. He placed his rifle against his shoulder and looked down the barrel at Danse. Deacon stepped in front of Danse and pointed his pistol at the stranger.

“You were already a disgrace to the Brotherhood,” Rhys said, “but now you’re a f*cking traitor too?”

“Rhys, please,” Haylen began.

He glared at the Scribe to silence her. Haylen had known Rhys’s cruelness from all angles, but begged in her mind that a shred of his humanity would pull through.

Danse put a hand on Deacon’s shoulder and gently moved him aside. He moved up the steps, stopping at the second-to-last one, tall enough to meet Rhys’s eyes there. He took the barrel of the Knight’s gun in his hand and pulled it against his chest. “You have your orders.” Hearing Danse’s voice after so long made Rhys’s ears perk. “But you have a right to choose, just as she did.” He motioned to Nora, whose eyes were as wide and full of fear as Haylen’s were.

Deacon wished he had the upper hand here, or that he could at least comfort Nora while her friend stood with a gun to his chest. He made no movement.

Booming steps above crossed the pulpit in the church. Rhys grinded his teeth and shoved Danse back with the barrel of his gun. Danse moved back one step and placed a fist against the wall to catch his balance, focused eyes never leaving the Knight’s.

Deacon looked to Nora. He could not have moved to comfort her, but he knew she was in no danger at the moment all along. Rhys’s hesitation ensured that.

A voice distorted through a power armor helmet called out for Rhys and Haylen. “We’re over here,” called Rhys, looking out the hall door. Nora’s throat tightened. “Stairwell’s caved beyond here.” He gave Danse a sharp look then walked away back into the church. Haylen’s sad eyes looked from Nora to her former Paladin, then she followed Rhys out.

It would be the last time Haylen saw Danse’s face this way- maybe the last time they ever saw each other at all. When he had held Haylen in his arms so long ago, and when she had kissed him, he was confused. He had never known a woman’s touch in any context. He would since stay awake some nights, replaying the peck on the cheek over and over, willing it to have been reciprocated, but his imagination would not allow it. He didn’t care for her in that way, and was unsure if he could for anyone.

Poor Haylen, Nora thought. The Scribe had tried to give herself to these two men, to no avail due to their dedication to the cause. She had only wanted to see the world, and instead of travel partners who loved campfire tales and reminiscing their adventures from their time together, she got emotional rejection and indifference. Nora sympathized.

“Getting cozy in the collapsed tunnel of love, eh?” the Knight in power armor jested to Rhys.

“F*ck off, Anderson,” Rhys retorted and shoved the soldier who didn’t falter due to the metal suit.

“Let’s try back here,” another Knight suggested, moving towards the back of the church.

Deacon finally released the breath he had been holding for a while. “Let’s get out of here,” he said quietly, moving down the steps. As they turned to walk away, Nora took Danse’s right arm. He looked down at her hands around the crook of his elbow. When they had reached the main tunnel, Danse placed his free hand over hers.


	6. Chapter 6

The agents had fled to Bunker Hill and spent a few days beneath a shop in a tunnel that was used for storage and the hiding of synths. Bunker Hill was helpful to the Railroad’s cause, but its mayor, Kessler, warned them not to overstay their welcome. Any number of caravan workers or the like could have seen the group of agents enter the city, and if the Brotherhood searched it, it would be no difficult task to find them.

Eventually, a new safehouse had been established in the Hardware Town outside of Diamond City. Three entrances made things dangerous, but the tunnels beneath were fairly spacious. It would do for now, Dez told everyone.

Danse had been away almost a month, undergoing and recovering from his plastic surgery. Nora spent her time taking shooting lessons from Glory, who insisted sneaking was for the weak of heart. Contrarily, Deacon trained her in stealth, like the use of disguises, which he apparently used often. When she realized he was bald, Nora bit her tongue, but Deacon laughed at her obvious opinion. The two had become friends and she admired his humor in the face of what could have been a grave tragedy.

Deacon was cautious with most things, but not enough when it came to Nora. He told himself it was fine. They were associates. She needed to be taught, and the time they spent together was merely out of necessity. He hadn’t noticed he started lying to himself too.

She was clever and learned quickly. The way she talked about the Old World was enticing. It sounded like a dream to Deacon. He had wonderful tales to tell her as well, like the time he was a fire-breather for a circus in New Vegas, or when he killed a Deathclaw with one sniper shot up its nose from 3,400 yards. She was fascinated, and an easy target for his bad habit. Anything seemed reasonable in the wild Wastelands, and she was credulous. He lied to impress her, and it seemed to be working. Every dinnertime, when the agents would gather, two seats were always kept open for Deacon and Wanderer to sit side-by-side. Everyone knew they liked to sit together to exchange stories, and everyone enjoyed eavesdropping as they ate.

Things at Hardware Town weren’t so bad. At the Old North Church, the terminals were probably destroyed, paperwork lost, weeks worth of supplies gone, weapons left to be claimed by the enemy… At least P.A.M. had made it out safely with all the information she had backlogged. She was left to guard the main room, and retrieved when Nora and the others escaped through the back tunnel thanks to Rhys.

Danse had voiced worry for Rhys. It was almost certain the stairwell would be checked and the Railroad headquarters found. The consequences for lying would be severe. Yet again, someone risked their rank and their life for him.

He approached the cellar door of Hardware Town with Drummer Boy who opened it after making sure the coast was clear. He helped Danse down the steps. The synth’s face was still bandaged and it was difficult for him to look down at his unsure feet.

When Nora realized it was him, she set down her dinner tray with a clang and rushed over. Several others joined her, but Deacon remained seated, mid-story.

“Alright, give the man some space,” Drummer said to the gathering agents. Danse had become quite popular and regarded as a hero for fighting off 50 Brotherhood soldiers before retreating to Bunker Hill with them. That’s what Deacon had sold anyway.

“How d’ya feel, Michael?” asked an eager agent.

His deep voice remained the same and Nora smiled at the sound of it from the back of the crowd. “Like a balloon.” The bandages hid severe swelling, and his skin ached beneath them.

Nora made her way past the other agents and took Danse’s arm as Drummer took the other. They led him to a mattress raised on pallets in a nook. He groaned from exhaustion as the bed shaped around him. Thankfully, he and Drummer had not run into any trouble while traveling from the surgeon, but the pain-killers and the aching weighed on him on top of the trek itself.

Drummer helped Nora pull off Danse’s boots. Drummer held his nose at the reek of the socks. “Whew! That’s all you, boss,” he said to Nora who sat beside her companion. He gave her a pat on the shoulder then left them.

Nora smiled at Drummer, then at Danse. “Hey, trooper.”

“How has establishing the safehouse gone?”

“Really good,” she beamed. “There were lots of pallets upstairs to use and even a terminal we’ve moved down here. It’s not a permanent solution, but it’s coming along.”

Glory approached Deacon and picked up Nora’s dinner tray, stacking it on top of her own empty one. She noticed he had been watching the pair. “Jealous?” she asked Deacon in her raspy voice, looking towards the nook. Deacon looked on with an indifferent face.

“Maybe a little. It’s been too long since I changed my mug. I’m just too low on caps to get it done right now.”

Glory scoffed and smiled. “Definitely what I meant.”

Nora told Danse about all that she was learning. “Carrington showed me some stuff about first aid, Tom introduced me to a new type of grenade he developed, and Deacon has these incredible stories about his travels.”

“That so?” Danse asked, eyes still closed and head leaned back against the nicest pillow Nora could find to place on his bunk.

“I don’t know about ‘incredible,’” Deacon said, approaching the pair. “Nora’s got some pretty fascinating tales herself.” Danse opened his eyes to see the Railroad agent holding a bundled dishrag. He was confused for a moment, as it was his first time seeing Deacon without his pompadour. “Brought you some ice,” Deacon said, handing it to Nora. “We got one of the fridges upstairs working. Helps keep the swelling down.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking it and holding the rag with ice inside against Danse’s face.

He winced at the coldness and the pressure. “I wanted to thank you, Deacon.”

“Oh?”

“You stood between me and Rhys at the church. You were willing to risk your life for mine. There’s a lot of that going around, and it’s not something I’m used to.”

“Hey,” Deacon smiled. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me.”

Danse closed his eyes and appreciated the relief of the cold rag. “Maybe.”

Deacon’s grin widened. He could make a synth sympathizer out of Danse yet. “Feel like eating? I’ll make you a plate.”

“Only a little,” Danse replied.

“Doc Carrington’s pathetic excuse for meatloaf, coming right up,” Deacon chimed, then he moved around the wall separating the sleeping nook from the cooking area.

Danse ate little, his cheeks too sore to handle much movement. Nora was by his side all evening, talking at him so he could simply listen and rest his face. In passing, Deacon overheard d her sharing the same Old World stories she had told him at their meals together.

A few months passed and the safehouse was coming together nicely. Fortifications had been made on the main floor in case any scavengers or raiders tried to wander in, or should the Brotherhood find them. Desdemona worked towards securing a better location, but this one was central in the Commonwealth and near Diamond City and therefore made for ease of travel and supply runs.

The Railroad leader would send Nora on missions with various agents, but she clearly noticed how well she and Deacon worked together and sent them out most often. Many successful dead-drop missions and executions of anti-synth groups had been carried out. The Railroad anticipated the end of the Institute with each day Danse healed. Once he was fully rehabilitated, Nora would give them the information they needed to attempt re-entry and sabotage. A step closer had been made when Danse’s face was ready.

Deacon had done all the changing of Danse’s bandages over time, leaving the former Paladin’s new face a complete mystery to everyone else. Danse sat in a metal folding chair in what was established as a recreation area. Glory set down her playing cards and decided to watch. Drummer Boy took the opportunity to peek at her hand. A red armchair someone had found tossed outside of Diamond City was placed against a wall and Nora excitedly plopped into it to see Danse’s progress. Deacon carefully began peeling away the bandages. With the first one removed and Danse’s cheek revealed, Deacon confirmed the swelling had gone and the day had come for the face reveal.

Nora clapped and leaned forward in anticipation. Danse closed his eyes, which had remained the same of course, to Nora’s appreciation. Deacon rolled back another bandage to reveal a wider nose than before and the bridge of which was now concave, then earlobes that did not disconnect from the jaw, then a thinner lower lip, until all the bandages had been removed.

“Look, hun, he has my nose,” Deacon joked.

“Not bad,” Glory beamed. “Not bad at all.”

“The doc did a good job,” Drummer said, placing a card from his sleeve into his playing hand while Glory was distracted.

“Well?” Danse asked, looking to Nora. Deacon watched the way her eyes explored Danse’s face and how her smile steadily grew.

“You look… really good,” she said with an embarrassed grin. She bit her lip to try to stifle it. “I’ll get you a mirror.” She wandered across the safehouse to ask an agent for a compact.

“Looking sharp, Michael,” Deacon said as Glory and Drummer turned back to their card game. “You’re on your way. Don’t forget about the last item on your checklist: where you want to end up.”


	7. Chapter 7

Nora couldn’t bring herself to visit the Institute again. Despite the Pip-Boy’s worth and usefulness, she had trashed it after finding the Railroad, knowing she could be tracked after the additions Dr. Li had made to it. She hadn’t been there since the first visit during which she had stayed for weeks. She tossed and moaned many nights, fighting something in her dreams, calling for Shaun. Danse, whose bed was across from Nora’s, only once woke to it, but he didn’t rouse her. She was strong enough to tackle the horrors of the Wastelands. Whatever she was battling internally, she could win.

Night-owl Deacon heard it every time. He wanted to take her up and shake her gently back into the real world where he could protect her from the Commonwealth’s beasts and beyond. He would risk waking Danse, however hard the soldier slept. He only once moved to help, placing his blanket atop her on a particularly cold night. She immediately calmed, and he wore two jackets to sleep instead. The next morning, she hadn’t noticed the second blanket, and whipped it back across the bed with hers as she stretched.

Desdemona had been discussing ways to gain entrance to the Institute, but patience was their best option. They needed Nora’s information, but Danse hadn’t yet made up his mind about where he wished to settle. The Railroad agents spent their days running missions to halt anti-synth activity and to supply other safehouses with provisions.

With Deacon as Nora’s partner on most missions, the friends had become even closer, sharing more tales (some taller than others). Nora came to feel comfortable revealing what had happened to her son and husband in Vault 111, but said nothing about what became of Shaun afterwards. She learned Deacon loved dogs and wished she could face Piper to visit her office and see Dogmeat, but the relationship had been severed, much like that of Nora and Nick, after her advanced involvement with the Brotherhood of Steel.

Along with the travesty of Vault 111, Nora shared more uplifting anecdotes, like her affinity for chocolate, an extremely rare commodity Deacon had tried few times. None remained from the Old World, but a bastardization of cacao survived and he imagined it tasted similar. She liked carnations- whatever those were, Deacon thought- and riding her bicycle around Sanctuary Hills. Deacon admitted he never learned to ride one, but was proficient in riding a unicycle as a result of the traveling circus from New Vegas. She still devoured his stories and some days he couldn’t tell if she accepted them out of gullibility or the desire to hear something hopeful in a broken world. He would supply them non-stop if it meant seeing her eyes light up like they did with each telling.

When Danse left the safehouse, which was on rare occasion, it was usually for supply runs to Diamond City or Bunker Hill. His trigger finger itched and he relished every gunfight he would get into on his journeys. Glory was his usual partner. He appreciated her skills as a fighter and even learned some fighting techniques from her. She was a synth, but still had a lot to offer the Commonwealth, he thought. She tried to preach at him about the superiority of synths, but he would shrug her off, wanting to get back to conversations about battle tactics, or silence. Deacon would also be asked to take Danse on missions. Nora worried about this greatly. He could use the opportunity to persuade Danse to accept a memory wipe or to move away from the Commonwealth. At the safehouse, she was always wary of the suggestions given to her companion, but when Danse was away with Deacon, she had no control of the propaganda being fed to him. Deacon, however, never violated her trust- never suggested anything of the sort to Danse. He regretted having done it at the Old North Church.

Evening fell as Danse and Deacon descended the cellar stairs into the basement of Hardware Town. They had made a visit to Diamond City for consumables and medical supplies. Nora was eagerly awaiting their return. She was seated in the recreation area’s single comfortable chair, the recovered red lounger. When she saw them come in, she called them over. They set down their shopping and approached.

In her hands was a cross-stitch that she held up with pride. In the center of a yellow circle was a white lantern- the Railroad’s symbol. Danse seemed unimpressed with the subject choice. He congratulated her on the accomplishment, however, noting how important it was for women to retain feminine pastimes. Deacon cringed on his behalf. Nora met Danse’s response with a sarcastic thanks and laughed. She turned to Deacon.

“I think it’s great,” he said truthfully, as it was made with skill. She had done plenty of cross-stitch while pregnant, but all of it had been lost to the bombs or scavengers. She longed to reclaim the hobby. “Could we maybe patch it here?” He opened his denim jacket. Nora agreed excitedly. He took a seat on the arm of the chair. Nora reached for her scissors and began work. Danse tutted and went off to find dinner.

As the night grew older, Danse was in his bunk with a pistol and a set of tools to clean it. Nora finished with Deacon’s patch and helped wash up after everyone’s dinner, then was ready to retire for the evening. The safehouse was quiet, as most of the agents had gone to bed. She approached her sleeping area, which hosted only her bunk and Danse’s. A white tee and blue high waisted shorts were comfortable enough for daywear and sleeping, so she didn’t change from what she had been wearing all day. She pulled back her blanket, Deacon’s having come and gone without her noticing some nights ago.

“A word, Nora?” Danse said, not looking up from the pistol. She agreed and approached his bunk. He had not gotten ready for bed, still in his travel clothes. He wore the brown leather jacket he had become fond of, and gloves to match. Dusty fatigues lined his legs, but his boots were at the end of his bed on the floor. “You can sit if you like.” She complied and sat beside him as he lounged against the stone wall.

“Everything okay?” She watched his focused eyes as he smoothed a bristled pipe down the barrel of the pistol.

“I’ve been putting some thought into the final checklist item.” Nora’s throat tightened in anticipation of his decision. “I think it would be best for everyone if I left the Commonwealth.”

Nora closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She wasn’t sure if she was hoping God or Danse could hear her thoughts, but they begged, “Please, no.”

“Is it because you’re hoping to rejoin the Brotherhood somewhere else?” she asked sternly.

“No,” he replied, with dejection in his tone. “Despite my attitude towards the Brotherhood of Steel, I feel it would be best I try to aid the Wastelands without them. However, they pose too much of a risk for me here. Because of what I am, the Brotherhood and too many others in the Commonwealth are a threat if I were somehow exposed.”

“Danse…” she started.

“My desire at the moment is to find or establish a faction which opposes the misuse of technologies. It would ideally uphold the same ethical code as the Brotherhood, but without hostility towards synthetic humans.”

“Danse.” Nora shook her head slowly, trying to fight the tears.

“The relationships I have established in the Commonwealth would no longer be in danger. The constant sacrifice of others on my behalf would be put to an end. I could start new and work towards an admirable future for the Wasteland.”

“Danse,” she said forcefully, looking at him with pleading eyes, which were finally met by his.

“D*mmit, Nora.” He wanted the end to come. There was a constant battle behind his cool demeanor. He often thought of the man whose shadow he was. What had become of the true Paladin Danse? How long ago had he been replaced? How had the Institute taken him without anyone noticing? The thoughts racked his soul with such vehement agony that he begged for death, but her protection over him would never allow it. “Nora, I promise I won’t do it. I won’t kill myself. You won’t need to worry. There are too many people out there who might need me.”

After a long while and some reflection, she whispered, “I need you.”

Danse’s eyes stared intensely at hers and he swallowed hard. He wanted this moment too, more than he wanted the end. He didn’t think it could ever come. He had noticed her playful nature around Deacon. It was only now that Danse considered that it was his own lack of jovial attitude that led Nora to treat him differently. Maybe he could learn to bring out her geniality the way the Railroad agent did.

“I need you, Danse,” she repeated, her breath unsteady.

“Then… come here.”

Without hesitation, she leaned into him. She immediately regretted not having felt the original lips of the man she had met at the Cambridge Police Station, not because of their fullness, but because she had missed out on every smooth motion he now made. Though he was wildly inexperienced, thrill surged through Nora as he explored the corners of her mouth with his. He dropped the pistol among the sheets. His strong, gloved hand held the back of her head and his fingers weaved through her brown hair. Opening and closing, sliding apart, their lips continued to make purchase in the dark as their noses rolled over each other’s. Her hands took to the back of his neck, feeling his hairline with her fingertips. “Yes,” she celebrated in her mind.

As much as any natural-born human’s would, his cheeks went red beneath his beard and his heart pounded. Having never known caressing, he thought his nervousness was blatant as he let his new lips wander over hers. His beard scratched her gently as he moved to kiss her eyelids and her nose. They pulled apart as she laughed at the feeling, and he smiled the widest she had ever seen from him. He slid his hand to her face, a thumb at the corner of her eye to take away a tear that had formed. She placed her hand over his and squeezed it before moving back in.

On the other side of the wall which separated their bunks from the rest of the safehouse, Deacon sat with his back against the bricks, legs spread ungentlemanly, arms resting on his knees. He looked around the ceiling in disbelief. He cursed his idiocy and rose to his feet. Near him was a waste basket into which he threw a bar of chocolate he had requested weeks ago and picked up today in Diamond City.


	8. Chapter 8

Danse and Nora kept their affections private, and even then they were not frequent. She was always the one to initiate kisses in the shadows or hand-holding as they sat in the back of agent briefings. Danse was shy, but enjoyed every moment Nora gave him.

Nora had always been in good spirits, but having this relationship with Danse gave her new life. Her nightmares were replaced with sweet dreams of things that could be. Her free time was spent around him, whether she was cross-stitching or using a weapons workbench. She was happy. The two had discussed alternatives to Danse’s plan to leave the Commonwealth. Desdemona grew impatient as she awaited information on the Institute, but Deacon quelled her with assurance that it would be well worth it.

Having overheard Nora and Danse, having caught the way they now looked at each other and how Nora bit her lip and how their hands would linger when they gave each other things, Deacon was different. He had hoped Nora could become an excellent agent under his observation. She still had potential to do so. The Railroad was his whole heart, and he wanted to share that with her, but she stopped sharing so many stories and stopped asking for his. She no longer offered her likes and dislikes to him. Going on missions with her began to feel more like work again than adventure.

One day, Danse had gone on an overnight with Glory. Two of the best gunners in the safehouse made an excellent team for taking on members of the synth-hating L&L gang. Nora stayed back in Hardware Town, spending her time mostly alone. When evening fell, she took to her sleeping nook and faced the wall, tracing the bricks while in thought.

Footsteps approached behind her. Deacon, hands in pockets, said quietly as most of the agents slept, “Wanted to talk to you.” Nora didn’t turn around, for fear of the subject matter. She had never liked Deacon as anything more than a charming, whimsical, and eccentric friend who had a lot to teach and many good laughs to offer. Though he showed no change in mood, he was distant lately. She had lost so many friends already because of the Brotherhood of Steel and was losing one more because of her time with Danse.

Deacon began, “We’ve been discussing the threat the Brotherhood represents.” Nora held her breath and stopped moving her fingers along the bricks. “After being forced out of the church, and knowing they have some sort of missile-wielding robot, we can’t sit idly by and wait to be taken out first. We’ve decided to act before they do.” She gave no response. “I wanted to say something while Michael was gone. You can imagine he wouldn’t take it well. I’m sorry if you don’t either.”

His boots made soft steps in the dust of the tunnel as they moved to leave. Nora reached behind her, not turning over, and grabbed the back of Deacon’s jacket. He only sighed gently through his nose. What was coming wouldn’t be easy, so he steeled himself and turned back to her. She released her grip and slowly sat up.

“There has to be another way,” she said softly.

He took his hands from his pockets and crossed them over his abdomen. “They were going to kill us. We all would have been slaughtered if not for those two you knew.”

“Doesn’t that tell you something?” She hugged her knees in the dark. “It’s not black and white. They aren’t all so cruel and unfeeling.”

Deacon shook his head. “It’s not up to me.”

“Bullsh*t,” Nora snapped. “I’ve seen how you talk to Dez. She’ll believe any lie you feed her and consider any opinion you give.”

So she knew he was a liar after all. His lips parted but no words came.

Nora buried her face in her knees. “Can’t something else be done?”

“What would you suggest, Nora?” he scolded. “Hundreds of soldiers with tech and weapons beyond our wildest dreams stand between us and the safety of synths. You could fit all our agents comfortably in this hardware store. Tell me what choice we have not to be wiped out but to strike first by surprise?”

“Use your words, Deacon!” she countered, sitting up straight and putting her legs over the side of the bed. “You’re good at that. I reasoned with Maxson once. It can be done. They’re not just animals looking to kill anyone who’s different. They believe in their cause as much as you do!”

“At what cost?!” he said, showing more emotion than she had ever seen of him. She hated it. The lenses hid the sight of his anger, but his voice compensated. “Innocent people are being murdered on the mere suspicion of being synthetic!” He stopped short to calm himself and to slow his breath. Something about these words clipped at his heart’s every vessel. Turning his back to her, he cursed and made a waving motion as if to fan away her judgement.

She stood and moved closer to him. “If you won’t see reason, you’re no better than Maxson.” 

When he wouldn’t respond, she grabbed his shoulder in her anger to force him around. He pivoted back to her and seized her wrists. They were closer than she felt comfortable. She tried to pull her hands away, and in his movement to prevent it, his sunglasses had fallen down the bridge of his nose. He had her hands tighter than he realized. More than his grip, his eyes cut into her. She had not once glimpsed the blue eyes that were now piercing through hers. There was immense anger there- anger about the Brotherhood, anger about her and Danse. But something else lingered too, like the thick air between their faces. He searched her eyes and her lips for a twinge of longing- anything that minutely asked him to come closer. He found nothing.

Tears welled in her eyes, which only made him angrier, because he couldn’t be the one to wipe them away. His gut was on fire as he imagined it, but he ultimately knew it couldn’t be him to touch her and take away her pain.

“Deacon, let go,” she said sternly. He blinked hard and suddenly released her.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I’m sorry. Sh*t, I’m sorry, Nora.” He put his hands back out to help her, but she pulled away. She wasn’t angry. If being around Danse or Deacon had taught her anything, it was how to control her feelings and talk about the important things at hand.

“Deacon.” Her saying his name only stirred the negative emotions he was trying to stifle. He wanted her saying it every day, but with a smile, not the tears that had started to well. “Talk to Dez. There’s been enough bloodshed. Don’t dirty your hands with any more.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. After adjusting his sunglasses, he left her. She soon heard his footsteps on the upper level, followed by the closing of an exterior door. Nora sighed and looked around her bunk. She took a pen and notepad from her footlocker.

The next day, Deacon was absent from the safehouse. Desdemona asked after him, but Nora had no information to give beyond his leaving the night before, which she didn’t mention. All day, Nora sat, eagerly watching the cellar door for Glory and Danse. She hardly ate at communal meals and said nothing to anyone. Drummer Boy poured her a drink, one thing she would always interact with. She thanked him and he left her to her thoughts. Her hands were idle all day. Her cross-stitch tools were under her bunk, packed in her bags, along with everything else she and Danse owned.

The safehouse was quiet by midnight. Most were in bed, P.A.M. had shut down, Tom’s radio played gentle classical music, and the soft sound of guards’ footsteps roamed upstairs. When it was more morning than night, the chain on the cellar door rattled. Nora leapt from the red lounge chair and ran to her bunk, shaking off the sleep that had started to overcome her. Glory and Danse descended the stairs.

Nora sat on her bed, listening for Glory to wish Danse goodnight and for the creak of her bed in the near-silent safehouse. When it came, Danse approached the nook with his and Nora’s bunks. He wasn’t surprised to see her awake. They would stay up later than most some nights as she would pet the back of his hands while telling him things about her past, or he would kiss behind her ears as she sat reading an Old World novel. Tonight, however, her eyes were solemn and her arms held two backpacks. He immediately understood.

With all the confidence that they had been ordered to do so, the pair crossed the safehouse and went up the cellar stairs, unlocking and relocking the metal hatch as they stepped into the alley. The night’s cold was refreshing. Nora gripped the straps of her backpack and adjusted Danse’s jacket zipper for him. He nodded, ready for whatever lie ahead.

“Heading to the store? You didn’t check if we were out of milk.”

Nora’s heart skipped a beat. She turned to see Deacon leaning on the brick wall of the alleyway, arms and legs crossed.

“Deacon,” Nora said in calm surprise. “We…”

“It’s okay,” he said, cool as usual. The Railroad agent approached Danse.

“Take good care of her, Mike. I know you will.” He extended a hand, which Danse took and shook slowly. The two men’s eyes met and soft smiles were on their faces.

Deacon turned to Nora and offered his hand. She ignored it and hugged him. In his surprised, it took a moment for his arms to find their way around her, though not tightly.

“We’ll… find another way,” he said.

She released him and glistening eyes met his lenses. “Thank you, Deacon. Thank you for everything.” He smiled with closed lips. “There’s a letter waiting for Dez inside. It has everything I know about the Institute.” She looked to Danse. “We’ve decided to leave the Commonwealth together. Maybe we’ll stumble across the Railroad out there.”

“Maybe,” Deacon said, hopeful that the two extremely capable persons before him could help his cause yet. “Now get out of here, you two! If Dez finds out you broke curfew, she’ll have you doing dishes for a week.”

Nora smiled at her friend, then turned to Danse who took her by the hand and gave Deacon a casual two-finger salute over his shoulder. Deacon reciprocated the motion. The companions left the alley for a life beyond the Commonwealth.

Deacon opened his jacket and examined the yellow patch inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques greatly welcomed and enjoyed! Thank you for taking the time to read! :) I loved writing this one. It devoured three days of my time.


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